LV
by I'm Nova
Summary: A soft birthday morning for Sherlock.


_Disclaimer: I don't own a single thing. A.N. I make a quip at the expense of sheriarty fans, but please know it's all done in good fun and in no way reflects my actual opinion. I'm trying to think from John's point of view here. I am in love with Jim myself, and 'guilty' of enjoying the occasional sheriarty (and johniarty, and honestly I like Jim, Seb, Sherlock and John together in any combination) too._

LV

Birthday traditions are the best, Sherlock thinks, coming out of a wondrous dream with a loud moan to find out it's reality – John is waking him up with a blowjob. Not that he does it only on the sleuth's birthday, sometimes he'll be randomly affectionate even before his husband is awake to reciprocate. Naturally, the consulting detective has consented very energetically, when asked, to his beloved indulging in bouts of lust whenever he's not fully conscious, 'since they have so much lost time to make up for'.

But on 6th January, it always happens…And waking to a glorious orgasm and an emotional, "Happy birthday, 'Lock, I love you so much" (despite how busy his mouth has been – sometimes still is – John never, ever forgets it, as soon as his partner's eyes open) always makes Sherlock's heart soar.

"Love you too, John" (fine, it might be Jaawn) he always replies. And, on this particular occasion – he adds, "Thanks for staying."

"Uh? I didn't have a conference or anything, love…not that I wouldn't have ruthlessly ditched anything to be with you today. Did I blow your mind, too?" his blogger – among other things – asks, a bit smug (though he has a right to be).

"You always do," the sleuth acknowledges, getting up on an elbow to better share a look full of adoration with his darling. "But this wasn't about that…just…thank you for staying. By my side. So long."

"Bee, we've been married fifteen years, you do remember that, right?" the doctor queries, frowning and touching with his left hand his husband's, ensuring their rings will touch each other.

"I'm mindblown, John, not concussed," Sherlock huffs, "it doesn't mean that you had to stay. Divorce is a thing, you know."

John actually laughs at that. Well, he laughs so as not to cry, which is a better option when he's still hellbent on going on to merrily celebrate his husband's birthday in short order – as soon as he can get his idiot to realise he can't imagine divorcing anymore than he can consider removing both his heart and lungs and then just going about his day.

When he has his breath under control again, he replies softly, "Bee, pardon my French on this auspicious day, but we took way too long to pull our heads out of our asses and get together in the first place. Now that you're mine to love – legally, even – there's no way you're getting rid of me unless you're the one kicking me out. And even then, you might want to have Mycroft deport me to ensure I'll actually stay away," staring at him so that Sherlock will feel how earnest he is at the moment.

The blinding grin he receives for that declaration is the kind of simple thing John lives for. Just – to make Sherlock happy. He's been an unforgivable (if somehow forgiven) idiot and hurt his love way too often in the past. If he makes his husband happy every remaining day of their lives, the doctor will still feel indebted (Sherlock saved his life without even asking, so many times), but at least he'll have a tiny bit of good in his book.

A heavenly smell wafts into the bedroom, announcing the arrival of Mrs. Hudson. Mostly, she leaves them to their own devices, and never, ever comes in unannounced. One never knows what one might interrupt, and as much as *she* is not likely to be shocked by anything, John is too proper to appreciate any intrusion. But they have a deal – on Sherlock's birthday, she's allowed to, and the boys won't get out of the bedroom until they're ready to be 'in public'. It's the best gift she can think up for their boy. The detective might be starting to head towards retirement age himself, but he'll always be a boy to her.

"Are we up to seeing her yet, love?" John mouths, just in case they'll pretend not to be awake yet.

"Of course," the other replies, swanning out of bed and slipping on his warmest dressing gown. He envies Johns summer birthday a bit, because spending the whole day naked is so much more sensible then. Then again, tempting as it is, being alone (and in bed) is not the plan. It's not been for years, by now.

"This smells like it could revive the dead, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock declares, walking into the kitchen with John on his heels.

"Happy birthday, Sherlock, dearie," the old lady cheers, blushing at the compliment. "You don't need to flatter me, you know."

"It's not flattering if it's true," the detective retorts, taking a bite and moaning.

"Well, boys, I believe that's my cue to go," she quips, winking at them. That boys can be adorable, but with the sounds Sherlock is making, they'll want some more privacy soon. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"Of course, Mrs. Hudson, we'd miss you too much if you didn't," John assures, grinning.

"Did you warn Sofia?" the sleuth asks, after a sip of very honeyed tea. Angelo opted for retirement and left the management of the restaurant to his daughter, who has as much of a soft spot for them as their dad ever did.

"She called me to confirm if we'd like to have your birthday celebration there again, or if you'd prefer something more fancy…a month ago, at that," the blogger mentions.

"Ridiculous," Sherlock sniffs.

"That's what I told her, love. And before you ask, yes, everyone is free to come. Your family, Molly and Stella, Greg, Mike, a few selected very grateful clients I couldn't turn away…Anderson I did, of course, or we'd have your whole fan club there before we knew it, and I really don't want to deal with disgruntled sheriarty fans today…they're as insane as he was. Oh, and Wiggins is coming too," John replies, smiling.

"You don't mind him?" his husband queries, raising an eyebrow. As helpful as Wiggins has been throughout the years, he's involved in the less savoury part of his life.

"We've reached an understanding. He tries to administer and sell anything, and I'll teach him the difference between a sprain and a broken bone. On all his limbs," the former army doctor says casually.

The answering moan is expected. Sherlock has always liked more than a bit when his partner gets violently protective. "You keep being this sexy, and I might have heart failure before we get to tonight. I'm getting old, Jawn," the detective warns.

"Fifty-five is not old, love. When we'll get to 80, then maybe," John corrects softly, "besides, you're even more gorgeous now."

"Never as gorgeous as you, love, silver becomes you so much. You look so very distinguished. You know, I never wanted to celebrate my birthday as a kid. It meant I was growing up, and that I would be expected to be even more like Mycroft…which of course I never meant to be. And now, when most people would love to hide their age, I'm dead set on the biggest celebration we can reasonably organise. Because I get to show you off, you know. Here is my perfect husband, and another year has gone by, and he's mine still," Sherlock retorts, looking as smitten as 29th January 2010.

"Not perfect, love, God knows I'm far from perfect. But yours? Forever," John declares, before claiming the sweetest kiss.

 _P.S. Since I never know how to name my stories, I went with the number 55 in Latin numbers. L is 50, V is 5. Which lets me tell you a joke running among people who know Latin…_

 _A dude goes in a bar and raises two fingers. "Five beers," he orders. ;-)_


End file.
